Search And Destroy
by takealookinsideabook
Summary: Frerard. Frank is a newly turned vampire, though still unsure who his master is apart from the shadowy figure in the corner of the room he's being held captive in. One night he's freed and he meets another one of his kind who lets him feed from him, but he's quickly taken back to the room and now Frank is fighting to free himself, while discovering love with a mysterious stranger.
1. Chapter 1

Frank's unsure where he is. The blackness that surrounds him is frightening, the silence even more so. He wants to sit up, but a weight inside him holds him down. He can't move, his fingers won't even twitch or flicker, and his eyes stare at the ceiling. He's unsure if he's even breathing, but he doesn't linger on the thought too much. The floor is hard underneath him, but he can barely feel it.

He manages to move his mouth a little, and he swallows a few times to wet his throat before he speaks.

"Am I dead?" His voice is still dry, raspy in the silence. Something shifts in the air, it feels like another presence in the room, someone looming in the corner, hidden in the shadows.

"You could say that," A voice fills the room, oddly familiar but Frank can't place it. Their figure appears crouched beside him. "Can you move yet?" They tilt their head, still hidden by the darkness. Frank needed to know who they were, he could feel their name on the tip of his tounge, but he just couldn't _remember_. It frustrates him, to say the least. Frank doesn't reply, trying to move his fingers or his toes, but they don't budge. "I guess not."

He feels alone again, empty inside as the shadow disappears and he's left by himself for what seems like years.

* * *

He can move now, his arms flex out and in and his legs can hold him up for a few hours. He's getting stronger. The room never changes, it's simply darkness. A small, box room and black. Occasionally he throws himself against the walls in an attempt to get out, but they don't move, not an inch. He screams and shouts, but to no ends do they meet. No-one would come and rescue him, nobody could hear him and nobody could see him. His family had probably accepted the fact that he was gone, they'd probably mourned him as if he was dead. He thinks he is. He feels it.

He doesn't sleep, he hasn't since he woke. He's tried, oh God, he's tried so hard - he even tried to knock himself out, running into the walls and holding his breath - but he just can't. He thinks for sure he's dead, but then there's days when he thinks someone is near, someone is watching him and listening, but it's gone as soon as it came.

* * *

The night that the figure returns is an interesting one. He's curled up in the corner, hands over his head when he feels someone. Lurking in the shadows, watching him. He looks up, staring at their outline with desperate eyes. He's is on his feet immediately, swaying towards the wall for balance.

"You're strong," They say, teeth almost glowing as they smile. He only stares, if he said the wrong thing there could be consequences. He didn't know how strong they were, he didn't know _what_ they were. "But, of course, not as strong as me." They laugh, low and throaty and he backs into the wall more. "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you. You're my creation," He frowns at that. Creation? "Such a creation of beauty and grace, designed to walk among the living undetected, feeding on them by night," They gesture, pale skin vaguely noticable in the dark, arms flailing with each detail. "You're a predator, but a sly one at that, no other creature could destroy you. Maybe one of your own - if they are strong enough,"

"Vampire," Frank says, eyes now fixed on his own skin, how much paler it was. His tattoos were still there, bright and bold, and that made him happier.

"Well done," They say, smiling. "Now, if you could just close your eyes, we'll get you out of here," He does as he's told, closing his eyes tightly as the floor shifts from underneath him.

The first thing he hears is music. Gradually getting louder until he could hardly hear the laughter and chatter of others as they danced. The sound is almost deafening, but he takes no notice. His eyes, sharper coloured brown with the occasional fleck of green, are wide and follow each movement. His throat burns, like someone was cutting at it slowly.

He can hear their heartbeats, loud and clear in his ears and he growls at the back of his throat.

"Now now, Frank, you must be discreet," They stand beside him, but he doesn't look because his eyes are trained on the smell, the warmth infront of him. "And be careful too, there's a few of our own joining us here," He nods as they disappear from his side.

He closes his eyes, taking in the smell. It was so new, but so familiar, like going home after being away for months. The new smells, but still what you remember.

He trails aimlessly, hungry and fighting the urge to gauge out all of their throats. He's scared too, lost in the unknown with no guidance. He wonders if this is all a dream, if it's his fucked up mind playing tricks on him.

Women stare as he walks past, turning their noses up as he shoved past them. He growls again and their eyes widen before they move away, whispering amongst themselves. Maybe they didn't know, they came here to be found and fucked, but some had different ideas. Some were hungry.

A pair of eyes jump out at him, distant in the merging bodies but still close, prying between heads to get a glimpse. He stares back at the stranger and his stomach flips with an unknown feeling when the man smiles. From what he can see the man is pretty, really really pretty. Black hair frames his pale face, which is still smiling at Frank, but the rest of him is hidden by other people.

When the man begins to back away, Frank follows. He throws a grin over his shoulder and Frank's curiosity grows even more.

They trail into silence, down dark hallways and the lights steadily dim until they're a faint glow in Frank's vision.

When the man disappears around a corner, Frank speeds up his pace.

The hall in front of him is long, the same as before, but empty. Frank looks back, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Pursing his lips, he looks forward again.

"Fuck!" He gasps at the grinning man before him. The man meets his eyes, cocking an eyebrow.

"Did I scare you?" His voice is oddly nasally, but it suits him. Frank stares for a moment, entranced by the look in his eyes.

"Uh- um, y-yes," The man smiles wider, leaning forward to whisper into Frank's ear.

"Sorry," He breathes, his breath dampening Frank's skin as he shudders. "Can I make it up to you?" The man bites down on Frank's earlobe, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make Frank whimper quietly. He sucks gently, before murmuring, "I'll take that as a yes. What's your name?"

Frank manages to gasp out his name before he sags against the man slightly.

"Easy, honey," The man chuckles as he hoists Frank up with hands on his waist and hips. "I need you to stay awake for me, wanna make you feel so good," His breath is hot as it fans across Frank's neck.

Frank doesn't speak for a moment as he swallows, but then he's reminded of the burning in his throat.

"M'hungry," Frank stumbles out, looking anywhere but the man's face. He doesn't even know the guy and yet he wants to impress him.

The older understands though, and his smile softens as he bites into his own wrist and presses it to Frank's lips. Frank stares at the man for a moment, who nods, and his fingers close on his arm as his teeth sink in and he begins lapping up the blood.

Frank moans at the taste, it's cooled his throat in a second, and yet he keeps drinking. He can't describe the taste, nothing even comes close to the delicacy. His eyes close, savouring the taste to his memory before he reluctantly pulls away.

The man smiles at him again, laughing under his breath as Frank watches with curiosity whilst his wrist heals in seconds. Frank stares for a moment after too, because holy fuck this is all so much cooler than it originally seemed.

Frank opens his mouth to speak, but a voice behind them starts first.

"Frank." It's _them, _the man from the room. His creator. Frank doesn't look back as the guy in front of him frowns, tilting his head. "Frank, it's time to go."

"I'm sorry, I- I have to go, but-"

"_Frank._" They're getting impatient, and Frank knows he'll pay for it.

"I'll see you another time, okay, we'll- we'll meet again-" Frank speaks quickly, and the fear must be clear in his eyes because the older man frowns deeper and steps forward.

"Why can't you stay, he doesn't control- oh." Frank apologises again, stretching up to press a kiss to his cheek before backing away and then jogging to where his master stands. The tall man glares at him, before wrapping his fingers around Frank's neck and then there's nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been weeks since Frank last fed. His throat is burning, making his voice croaky and barely understandable when he speaks. His body is weak, almost just skin and bones from the lack of blood keeping him alive. He's in the box room again, curled into a ball to shield away from the world. There's never any sunlight, never any visitors.

His eyes are bloodshot, open and blank as he waits for something new. He's not sure what he's waiting for anymore. Help maybe? But he's unsure if he can be helped at this point.

He thinks about the man from the club, regretting how he didn't get the man's name. He was pretty.

There's a presence, lurking at the edges of Frank's mind. Someone's near. Frank sniffs the air, the familiar smell of human filling his nostrils and it makes him growl hungrily.

They're getting closer, he can feel it. His hunger is growing stronger now, ready to be fulfilled and satisfied. His fingers twitch against the dry wood of the floor, nails scratching when he hears their heart beating. They smell _so good_.

The room is filled with a blinding light, not the sun but something else, stronger maybe, but it doesn't burn his skin. He shrinks away into the corner, tensing when the human is in the room with him.

There's another vampire near, just close enough for him to know they're there, but he takes no notice when he looks at the human sprawled unconscious across the floor.

"Mom?" Frank chokes, staring at the body wide-eyed. Her arm twitches before a whimper of pain fills the silence. "Mom," Frank whispers, trembling as the fear of himself encloses on him.

"Frankie, there you are!" Linda speaks as if he's a child, like when he'd got lost at the supermarket when he was seven and she'd ran through the isles trying to find him. She gets to her knees, seemingly ignoring the gash on her neck, and begins to crawl closer to Frank.

"Mom, no don't," Frank begins, eyeing her neck with frightened eyes. He didn't want to hurt her. "Get away from me!" Frank begs, holding his hands out as she goes to hug him. "Mom, please no," His eyes are lined with tears, but it takes a moment for Frank to realise that it's blood slipping from his eyes, not water.

Linda stops. "Don't you love me, Frankie? You forget about your mommy?" A broken sob escapes the young man as he shakes his head, pushing his mother away. She stares at him, her eyes unfocused as loud cries were all Frank could manage. "Frankie…"

"Get away from me!" Frank screams, shoving the woman hard. "I'm a fucking monster, stay away from me!" His mother lays in a heap a few metres away, eyes rolled back into her head, as Frank sobs into his hands.

* * *

"You didn't kill her."

"She's my mom."

"I told you to feed."

"She's my mom."

"Franklin."

"She's my _mom_! I couldn't kill her!"

"You're weak, I should've killed you before you'd fed from that freak at the club."

"You should still kill me."

"I'm not that stupid, Frank."

"Why am I so important? Why did you have to do this to me?"

Silence.

* * *

The first strip of light happens randomly. It scares Frank. It makes him jump from his corner, staring at the brightness like it would jump out and attack him.

The second comes a few moments after, it's bigger and closer to Frank, and when he puts his finger into it his skin burns in seconds. He yanks his arm back with a hiss of pain, staring at the light in wonder.

If he threw himself into the light, would he burn to death? How long would it take? He knew it'd be painful, but right now that wasn't something that he was considering. He just wanted to be gone.

Then there was a voice.

"Gee said he was here, in some kind of box under the fields. If we can just get him out without burning him too much, we'll be able to get him back and feed him." Another strip of light. Only a little more before he was going to be a pile of ash.

"Wait!" Frank cries as the light warms his skin and he breaks out into a sweat. "I don't want to burn, be careful okay?"

"Dude, why are you even awake in daytime?"

"I can't sleep when I'm this hungry."

"I see. Hey, put this on," A black jumper is thrown down, along with gloves and a scarf. "It'll protect you from the sun more. How fast can you move?"

"Uh, pretty fast I guess," Frank replies, pulling the gloves on before yanking the hood up over his head and the scarf around his nose and mouth. He wouldn't burn too much, right?

"Right, good. I'm not here to kill you by the way, I'm a brother of a… uh, friend, I believe. There's a car pretty much right next to where I am, so if you're quick you shouldn't get burnt."

Frank shrugs, he would work out what the guy meant later. He just had to focus on getting to the car, and then he could feed. Fuck he missed feeding, his throat aches at the thought of finally fulfilling his need. Preparing himself to move, he breaks out into a run.

The heat hits him first. It collides with his whole being, sending him into the dirt, gasping. There are shouts from two others nearby, but he can't focus. The sun is burning through, tearing his skin and blistering it. He can smell his own blood.

"Mikey! Get him off the floor and into the car!" There are hands on him and the pressure makes him cry out as he's carried towards a blacked out four-by-four.

* * *

The first thing Gerard smells is burnt flesh. It makes him bolt upright in his bed, though the room is dark he can still see everything, but no one is in his room. Mikey must be back.

He gets dressed slowly, taking his time to flatten down his hair a little before trudging down the stairs. His throat is burning, so he picks up a blood bag on his way to the living room, which is where Mikey's scent is coming from.

"Hey, Gee," Mikey says tiredly when Gerard leans against the doorframe, glancing curiously at the body under the dark sheet on the sofa. It's been pulled up the person's ears, so Gerard can't see their face at all. "We found him."

_Oh_. "Oh." Mikey smiles a little, eyeing his older brother with a fond look. "How'd it go?"

"He got burnt pretty bad. He was awake too, which surprised me…" Mikey pauses, eyes flickering to the figure of Frank on the sofa. "He said he was too hungry to sleep,"

"Did you feed him?" Mikey nods.

"Three bags."

"Jesus Christ."

Mikey laughs quietly, but then becomes serious. "We're pretty low actually… and now we've got two of you-"

"I know," They smile almost sadly at each other. "I'll get some more, okay? I'll be back before sunrise, promise."

"Okay, Gee," Mikey stands to hug his brother tightly, and Gerard clings just as hard back. "Be careful,"

"Always am, Mikes,"


	3. Chapter 3

Frank wakes to the sound of the door slamming shut and then shouting. He doesn't move from where he's been laid, on something comfy, because he doesn't want to intrude, but he's also unsure where he is.

And the fact that his whole body is blistered and bloody stops him from moving.

He ends up listening in on the almost hush voices in the next room.

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't kill people anymore, Gerard!" Frank recognises the voice, the boy who got him out of that fucking box room. Who the fuck was Gerard?

"He needs the fresh blood, he's barely three months old! If we give him the shit I drink, he won't get any better."

Frank knows that voice… He frowns to himself, letting his eyes drift open to look around himself.

The room is dark, though it isn't daytime outside the thick, black curtains are still pulled shut. The walls are painted a dark brown, the two sofas and loveseat circled around a coffee table are white and cushioned, so Frank's body sinks and moulds into the surface. There's family pictures scattered around, on walls and surfaces, but Frank doesn't look at them long enough to see who occupied them.

"You can't go out killing people for him, Gee,"

"I have to help him," Comes the muttered reply, and then silence.

Frank shifts up onto his elbows, hissing at the outburst of pain spreading up his arms like wildfire.

"_Fuck_, ow," Frank bites the inside of his cheek, holding down a shout. "Guys I-" He pauses, taking a long (but unneeded) breath through his nose. "Hello? Can someone help me up?" There's a murmur too quick for Frank to hear before a tall, scrawny man steps into the room. His glasses are sliding down his nose, but he doesn't move to push them back up.

"Frank, right?" Frank nods, eyeing the man. Human. "I'm Mikey… Uh, you know Gee?"

"Who?" Frank tilts his head, frowning.

"Gerard?" Mikey sounds amused and by the slight twitch of his lips, Frank knows he's fighting laughter. "Um, black hair? He kind of looks like me I guess, he's my brother so I suppose he should…"

"I, um… I have no idea who you're talking about…" Frank says slowly, still frowning. Mikey was giggling to himself now, even as he picked up one of the photo frames off a cabinet and handed it to Frank. He points to a man in the middle and Frank's heart would stop in his chest if it hadn't already done so.

That was Gerard? The pretty boy from the club? Gerard… Frank lets the name roll around his head, testing the different ways he could think of saying it.

"You recognise him?" Frank nods and Mikey finally lets out a honking laugh. "It doesn't surprise me, really,"

"I don't understand…"

"My brother isn't good at telling people his name," Mikey rolls his eyes at Frank's raised eyebrow. "Especially those who he uh. Hooks up with."

Frank feels his eyes go wide. He knows his cheeks would be bright red if he still had blood flow. "I- no, we—um. We never-" Frank waves his arms about, and then Mikey gets it.

"Oh." He frowns slightly. "Huh. That's new."

"You've lost me again,"

"It's unusual for him to not sleep with someone when he gets the chance." A strange feeling settles inside Frank. It's stupid, he realises, to feel sick especially considering he didn't even know Gerard's name until two minutes ago, but that doesn't stop his stomach from twisting in slight disgust, but mostly disappointment. Why had Gerard helped Frank if he was only to be a one-night fuck?

"Fuck, sorry- shit!" Mikey curses into his hands, shaking his head frantically. "I didn't mean for Gee to sound like the town whore, he's not- he really, _really_ is not- like at all, seriously."

Frank shrugs. "I probably should've known." He mutters bitterly, closing his eyes and trying not to focus on the ache in his forehead. Were vampires even meant to get this shit?

"Frank, seriously, I didn't mean for it to sound like that," Mikey looks panicked, glancing at the stairs through the doorway every couple of seconds. Frank wonders if Gerard was still in the house, if he had heard their conversation. He probably had – Frank knew most of his strengths and advanced hearing was one of them.

"It doesn't matter." Frank murmurs. He moves his legs over the sofa so his feet hit the floor, and then proceeds to push himself up. He wobbles and then Mikey's there, arms supporting him as he steadies. "I need a shower,"

Mikey nods and slowly begins to help him limp down the hallway.

* * *

The first touch of water makes him hiss, clenching his teeth to stop him from crying out. He closes his eyes tightly, body shaking at the waves of pain shooting through every limb. It felt like someone was pouring acid over him and letting it seethe through every cut and blister and doing nothing as his skin degraded and fizzed.

"Fuck," He gasps, his hands fisted as they came into contact with the tiles. Resting his head against the cold wall, he tries to stop his body shaking but it doesn't work well.

He didn't even change out of his underwear, not feeling comfortable enough. He trusted Mikey, the man had been nothing but helpful since getting him out of the four-wall prison, but he still didn't want to be naked in an almost stranger's house.

He looks down at his arms, sighing at the cut open blisters and dead skin. His tattoos were somehow still fine, and that makes him smile. Thank God, if his tattoos were ruined he would be more than pissed.

He sighs again, stepping out of the shower and reaching for the towel slung over the rail.


	4. Chapter 4

Frank hasn't seen Gerard once since he's been staying with him and Mikey. He can't even sense where he is, or if he's even home and he doesn't know why. It could be because Gerard's older, but Frank doesn't have a clue. He's not even that interested in Gerard, he just wants to know everything about being a vampire and what's going to happen to him.

He's scared, of course he is. He has no idea if his Master knows where he is, or if he could get to him and take him back. He's constantly on edge, worrying about himself and Mikey. Mikey being human put him in more danger, and Frank wasn't really in the position to look after him. That's got to be Gerard's brother duty.

When Frank thinks about Gerard, he can't help but think back to when they met. Frank had been so hungry; he hadn't really concentrated on anything but feeding. And after feeding on Gerard, he could feel the pull towards the older vampire. Maybe it'd been the blood or maybe it was just Gerard, but Frank just wanted to sit in his presence and be able to relax for once.

And Gerard's blood, _god_, it was so good. Not only had it cooled Frank's throat and satisfied him easily, the taste had been divine. Like strawberries, fresh and juicy bursting into his mouth and washing over his tongue. Nothing had ever tasted so good, and Frank yearned for more.

But it's not like Frank would tell anyone this, because he had no one to tell. If he spoke a word to Mikey, he would surely freak out and think Frank was endangering him. And he hadn't seen Gerard at all, so that wasn't even an option.

* * *

Frank just wants to go home. He wants to be able to cling onto his mother, and breathe in her familiar smell and tell her what's happened. Maybe even cry a little because it wasn't like she would tell anyone. He's so fed up with sitting around, doing nothing whilst he could be living his old life. He didn't even know if his mom thought he was dead, if they had mourned him.

He didn't know what'd happened to her after she'd passed out. One moment she'd been there, a lump of human flesh on the floor, and the next her whole being was gone from the room. He'd worried constantly, had he killed her? Was she okay? And if she had survived, was she home now? Did she remember?

He just wants to go home.

He's been stood by the front door for twenty minutes. His blistered skin is mostly healed; he can walk around by himself now. He'd fed not long ago, his throat was a barely-there burn, and he could ignore it in a second. He wasn't a threat, not right now. He could just go let his mom know he was safe and in good hands, but that he couldn't come home, not yet, maybe not ever.

He hates the thought of never returning home, but what could he do? He was stuck as a vampire forever, unless someone killed him or he killed himself. His mind races, switching from his mother's face to Mikey, and then finally on Gerard. The man had abandoned him, he couldn't get his one-night fuck and so he'd moved on. Frank didn't care, at least not anymore. He'd been a little down for a few days, but now he had gotten over it.

As Frank passes the gate at the end of Mikey's drive, he turns to walk quickly down the street. After walking for ten minutes, he finally recognises his surroundings and heads in the right direction for his home. He knows he could move faster, a mile in a few seconds, but he's still not used to moving so fast so he's still at human speed. It's almost a comfort.

When he reaches his house, he stands across the street, watching the light glowing from the living room window. It's all so familiar that it hurts; his stomach twists with guilt and homesickness, and he frowns as he hugs himself.

If he listens more intently, he can hear the fuzz and scratch of the voices from the TV, his dad's gruff laughter when something funny happens. Frank and his father had never been close, not since Frank had come out, but that was still his dad in there. Frank still loved him. His mother's heartbeat echoes from upstairs, in his room. He can hear her laboured breathing and sniffles and he realises she's crying.

She's mourning him.

It hits him like a punch in the chest, his whole body freezes up and he's suddenly so angry that he has to bite his lip so hard his fang slices through to stop from screaming. He just wanted to be home, why the fuck couldn't anyone understand that?

He takes an unneeded breath before he crosses the street. It's almost eleven at night, so there's no one on the streets at this time – not in Jersey. He slips through the back gate, careful to not push it open far enough to make it creak, and peers through the back door. The kitchen is empty, so he slides in silently and moves towards the stairs.

Upstairs, he listens to his mother shut his bedroom door and walk across the hall to her own and lock herself inside and her cries become louder. Something twists painfully inside Frank, and without thinking about it he is at the top of the stairs in a second. His mother's cries don't seize up in the least.

He doesn't go near his parents' room. He takes careful steps to his own, slipping inside when he knew neither of his parents could hear him moving around.

His room is exactly how he remembers it. Nothing has been moved; his bed hasn't even been made. He moves to the desk tucked away in the corner, running his finger over the layer of dust that's formed. How long has he been missing? Or dead, because that's what everyone must think he is. Dead; burnt and gone and blown away with the breeze.

Frank freezes as footsteps climb the stairs, but they pass his room to his parents' and his father's voice is clear as day.

"Linda," He says softly, but Frank knows the anger will soon come free. "Open the door," When there's no reply but a choked sob from inside the room, his father pounds on the door and Frank flinches. "Open the fucking door, Linda!" He shouts, kicking it for good measure.

"I'm not opening it, Frank," Linda rarely used her husband's name, usually sticking to 'honey' or some other pet name because 'Frank' was for her son - her world.

"He's not coming back, Linda," Frank yells, planting both hands on the door and slamming them a few times. "He's dead! If he was still alive, he would've been found months ago!" He hits the door again.

"Get OUT!" Linda screams, and her cries that follow are so painful it makes Frank clench his eyes shut in his own bedroom. His father goes back downstairs, mumbling to himself.

The hurt bubbling inside Frank grows; constricting his throat and making him feel sick. This was his home. It should've been a happy place, not one full of arguing and constant crying. His mother so deep into her own grief at losing her only child making her withdraw so much so that her husband now hates her, and was honestly considering just leaving. He loves and misses his son, but he knew it was pointless waiting for him to return after so long.

But then Frank asks himself, how long has he been gone?


End file.
